Poker Face
by N.W. Clerk
Summary: Its so hard finding common ground with one's future in laws, just ask Rhett Butler. A fateful meeting between two characters in Gone With the Wind


I saw him long before he saw me; the short, stocky man with a shock of thick white hair and Scarlett's stubborn chin.

Scarlett. Her name brought a faint smile. When had I started referring to her as Scarlett instead of Miss O'Hara? Then a realization. She was no longer Miss O'Hara. How proud the steadfast Mrs. Wilkes was, when she disclosed to him that Scarlett was now Mrs. Hamilton.

Her dear sister.

He stopped one of the girls; but from the way his eyes restlessly searched the room, I knew he was not interested in the beauty of the girl he was questioning. Not so much as a glance at the ample flesh that threatened to spill from the front of her bodice.

I found that I had an unanticipated sense of approbation for this man. He was clearly a man on a mission, without the time or inclination to focus on anything but the task at hand. He was afraid that I'd attempted to take advantage of a young girl who was still in the first stages of loss.

Did he believe that she was mourning the loss of a husband or did he know her well enough to see she was mourning the loss of her youth?

From the strong wording of his note, I perceived that he was deeply concerned for his daughter well beyond the damage to her reputation. In his note, there was not one word about her reputation or the subsequent damage that might have been done to it. In short, he appeared to be the man I believed him to be based on his note, a man who loved his child a great deal.

Admirable, to say the least.

The girl directed him toward my table. I'd selected a secluded booth, off toward the back of the bar, near Belle's office. I did not want our meeting to be the focus of scrutiny for half the room. Strange that in this case I would be so concerned with proprieties when I so seldom observed them.

"Captain Butler?"

I nodded.

His blue eyes were cold. He was not intimidated by me, that was immediately evident. Not bravado or the screwing of courage. Never would it occur to this man to fear me because …the because was unknown to me. From Frank Kennedy I'd learned that his intended's father, a Mister Gerald O'Hara, was a self made man. Briefly, I wondered what this man had faced to give him is air of self-assurance.

A swift memory. A sudden, blinding stab of horror when he'd confided to me that he was to marry a Miss O'Hara. Miss Scarlett O'Hara that was the name of the girl wearing the inappropriate afternoon dress. He'd heard her called that by the two red haired boys who waylaid her on the stairs.

Waylaid her much to the annoyance of the girls they were escorting.

Frank was as rich as Midas; certainly a prize when considered from a financial point of view. Was the young woman on the staircase, the one who'd colored so prettily when she'd felt his eyes on her, that mercenary? Was she willing to trade her youth and beauty to the bewhiskered, high strung Frank in exchange for financial security?

Maybe she had no choice. Perhaps an ambitious father or an impoverished mother was selling her to old maid Frank. What did it matter to me? But, for some reason, it did matter. After having spent the last few days with Frank as my host, my sympathy was stirred for any woman who would spend the rest of her life with him.

Later that day, I was introduced to a young, sharp featured girl who was Frank's Miss O'Hara. By then, I had realized that the Miss O'Hara on the stairs and the Miss O'Hara Frank was to marry were not, in fact, one in the same.

"Captain Butler, tis' a word I'll be having with you." His brogue was still heavy, despite his years in this country.

Inclining my head toward the empty seat across from me, I invited Scarlett's father to be seated. "You are Mister O'Hara, I presume?"

He took the seat next to the one I'd gestured at, pointing ignoring the chair I'd directed him to. Obstinate, I thought, amused, just like his emerald-eyed daughter.

"I am, though seems foolish of you to ask. I assume you got my note so its sure I am that you were expecting me. Unless of course, you have a queue of other angry fathers waiting to meet with you."

"Fortunately, I have no engagements in the morning, otherwise I'd be turning in soon," I said jokingly.

"A laughing matter to you, a young women's honor?"

Those words, another man, I would have most certainly laughed but for some reason, I did not want to antagonize this man. "I misspoke, please accept my apologies." Catching the eye of one of Belle's girls, I waited for her to come to the table before speaking again. "May I offer you a drink; a scotch or perhaps some whiskey?"

He nodded reluctantly. I knew when we concluded our business, he would throw money on the table to cover his drink rather than be beholden to a man such as myself. "Alright, just one then. Whiskey. Bushmill's if they have it, any other Irish whiskey if they don't."

Scarlett father, a son of Erin down to his drink of choice. "Bushmill's," I told the girl, knowing that Belle did stock it, "bring the bottle and two glasses."

Draining the first glass in a single, neat bolt, he looked slightly more at ease. "Thank you for meeting with me. You know why we're here, so I'll be making this brief."

Pouring the man across from me another glass of Irish whiskey, I nodded, "You want me to stay away from your daughter."

"Aye, that I do," replied Gerald O'Hara, tossing back the contents of his glass with another neat motion. "My girl has been through enough, losing her husband so soon after they were married, she doesn't need the likes of you making her conspicuous."

"It was just a dance to raise money for the glorious cause," I said, managing to keep a straight face.

"More than one, or so I've been told."

"Told by whom?"

"By nearly every decent women in this town with a pen to put to paper to spread the tale. Mrs. O'Hara is terribly vexed about all of this, as am I," he added, pushing his glass back toward Rhett.

"I believe Mr. O'Hara, this is all nothing more than a tempest in a teapot. Its true, I bid to dance with Mrs. Hamilton, but I had no nefarious reason to do so. I simply saw a young woman who wanted to dance and I thought she deserved a turn on the dance floor. Your daughter is very young to be forever entombed in widows weeds."

Gerald's nodded reluctantly. "Aye, she is." His expression became thoughtful. "Makes me sad not to see her in green, she was always so beautiful in green. Of course, she's a pretty lass no matter what color she wears."

"She must have loved her husband very much," I said, pouring out yet another glass for Mr. O'Hara, "to have married so young. I remember Mr. Wilkes' engagement being announced at the barbeque last April, but I from the amount of beaus around her, I wouldn't have known your daughter was about to be married."

Scarlett's father had the good grace to look mildly taken aback by the suggestion that his daughter hadn't loved her young bridegroom. "The war, ach, well you know how it is. Young people become impatient when they realize that they might not have a chance to settle things; Scarlett and Charlie were no exception. He was going away and didn't know how long he'd be gone." He paused, reevaluated his words and hastily crossed himself. "He was a good lad, from a good family. It didn't grieve me to give them my blessing. I can only hope their boy will grow up to be as fine a man as his father was."

"She has a child?" I inquired innocently, knowing full well that she had a son.

"She does, a baby boy, named Wade Hampton."

"Wade Hampton, after the late Mister Hamilton's commander?"

"Aye, you know the man?"

"A friend of my father's."

"The father who cast you out?"

I grinned sardonically. "I only have one sir, unless you are implying something about my mother's virtue, in which case-"

"Unruffle your feathers laddie, its common knowledge that you aren't received, that none of them in Charleston will have you under their sacred roofs. The blockade running, has that forced open doors?"

"Not yet." I raised my glass in salute. "Here's hoping."

"Scarlett's life is already more complicated than needs be, your presence in it would only complicate it still further."

"It must be difficult, raising a child alone."

Here the older man became thoughtful. Nodding finally, he sighed. "I love my grandson, now that he's in it, I couldn't image the world without him. The first time Mrs. O'Hara put him in my arms, I loved him just as much as I did his mother when first she was in me arms." Mister O'Hara poured himself another glass, but this time he only studied its contents, swirling them once or twice in lazy circles.

"You have children?"

"A confirmed bachelor," I replied.

"Had I known that my puss's marriage would be over before it could have begun, maybe I would have told Mr. Hamilton his suit would keep. What's done is done, tis true, but if I'd made her wait a week or two, she might have decided that an extended engagement would have done her no harm."

"Or done her more harm as she would have mourned for the missed opportunity."

"Not my puss." The alcohol was serving to loosen his tongue. "She isn't one to dwell on unpleasant things. Not saying she wouldn't have felt badly that Charlie died, but she wouldn't have let it tie her in knots, not like her moth---"

He managed to stop himself.

"I didn't catch that."

"Not important," he muttered, draining his glass. "Another?" He queried, picking up the bottle.

"Please," I replied, sliding my glass toward him.

"You understand my position, why I dinna want you 'round my daughter," he said, slurring his words only slightly. Considering the amount of liquor he'd consumed since sitting down, I was impressed that he was still sitting upright.

"Should it be up to her, whether or not she chooses to associate with me?"

He laughed, as if I'd just told him a joke. "No. She's a child. How can she know what's good for her…or not good, as the case may be."

"She's a widow with a child of her own. Shouldn't she have some say over the course of her life?"

He poured us each another glass and I found myself trying to tally up how much he'd already consumed. The tall bottle was already more than half empty. "To be sure, tis the opinion of a man without daughters that you're offering. One day if you have a daughter—"

I laughed and held up one hand. "God forbid."

"Maybe you'd prefer boys but there's nothing wrong with girls. I wanted a son to follow me but it wasn't meant to be…"

"No I meant God forbid I have any children. I am not suited for fatherhood."

He attempted a wink but both eyes closed at the same time. "Wait and see boyo, you're still a young man yet."

Waving one of the girls over, I gestured toward the bottle. Coming back with a new bottle, she poured the contents of the previous bottle into our glasses. "Cards, Mister O'Hara?"

He grinned. "I warn you, can you afford to lose for I'm quite good if I do say so meself"

"I assure you Mister O'Hara, I can afford to lose, if it comes to that."

"Confident, I like that in an opponent." Reaching out his hand, he took the deck the bar girl had just brought. Grinning, he opened the waxed paper sealing the pack. "Just the same, I'll deal, if that's alright with you?"

I withdrew a cigar. "Not at all," I replied, before pouring him yet another glass of whiskey, "I don't mind at all."

_ _ _ _ _ ____________ _____

The street with its over-arching trees was softly, deeply black under a dim star-studded sky. It was the sort of night sky that made me miss my ship. I felt a sudden longing to be back out on the water. Despite my remarks to Scarlett, not all of the pleasure I derived from blockading was financial in nature. Being out on the water, earning money through skills taught to me in boyhood by my distant father…the closest I could come to describing how I felt about blockading was that it soothed something deep within me. Something that I forgot existed.

The man next to me was reeled in his seat, nearly falling to the floor when the buggy struggled over one of the deep ruts in the red clay road.

"Mister O'Hara?"

"Aye, so I am," he replied, laughing at himself.

Reaching the Hamilton house, I chucked softly to the horse, while pulling back on the reins. Hauling my companion out of the buggy, I laughed softly, under my breath, when Gerald O'Hara yet again began to sing a song about a girl named Peg in a low back cart.

Pausing at the gate, I tried to keep Scarlett's father upright while briefly struggling with the gate latch.

"Now I'll be giving you the 'Lament for Robert Emmet," he told me, pounding me on the forearm, "Tis a song you should be knowing, me lad. I'll teach it to you."

"I'd like to learn it," I replied, a hint of buried laughter in my voice. "But not now, Mr. O'Hara."

"Sing it I will and listen you will or I'll be shooting you for the Orangeman you are."

"Not Orangeman—Charlestonian."

"'Tis no better," he paused, fleetingly. "Tis worse. I have two sister-in-laws in Charleston and I know."

Without warning, Gerald, who was hanging on the gate, threw back his head and began the "Lament," in a roaring bass. It was a beautiful song, if only his drinking companion could carry a tune.

"Come along Mister O'Hara, its nearly dawn." I managed to get him up the path to the front door

The door opened and there she was. The only light in the dark hall came from a single candle on a stand. The flickering golden light cast her in both light and shadow. Her white wrapper, pinned tightly at her neck, was fashioned from yards of soft white lawn and emerald green ribbon. The fabric absorbed what little light there was. It glowed softly, making her look like ethereal, like a bride.

I suddenly hated her morning black even more, seeing her in color once again reminded me of how beautiful she truly was when she wasn't dressed like a crone.

My companion began to slide to the floor. Catching him under the arms, I grinned. "Your father, I believe?"

"Bring him in," she said shortly, obviously embarrassed at her attire, infuriated at her father, livid that I was here to take it all in.

Propelling Gerald forward, I inclined my head toward the stairs. "Shall I help you take him upstairs? You cannot manage him. He's quite heavy."

Her mouth fell open with horror at the audacity of my proposal.

"Mother of God, no," she managed to choke out, grabbing the candle; she hurried toward a set of double door. "In here, in the parlor on that settee."

"The suttee, did you say?"

"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head," she snapped. "Here. Now lay him down."

"Shall I take off his boots?"

"No. He's slept in them before." She flinched at that slip of the tongue.

I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her. Taste those red lips and see if they were as sweet as I imagined but, assaulting her while her inebriated father snored on the settee seemed too crass, even for me.

"Please go, now."

I walked out into the dim hall and picked up my hat from the doorsill.

"I will be seeing you Sunday at dinner," I said and went out, closing the door noiselessly behind me.

----------- --------------------------- --------------------

That night was the first of many sleepless nights Scarlett O'Hara caused me. It was the first, and God help me, even then, I knew it wouldn't be the last.

**Hope you all enjoyed it, would you be interested in seeing something a little longer from me?**


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